


All's Faire

by livingdeadkat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College age Sansa, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jousting, Modern Era, Renaissance Faires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingdeadkat/pseuds/livingdeadkat
Summary: Sandor never expects to both meet and like a girl at a Renaissance Faire, especially not one who is extremely annoying and loud while drunkenly cheering while he jousts. (Spans over 2 years. One Shot.)
Relationships: Sandor Clegane - Relationship, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 110





	All's Faire

This had been the third year that Sandor and Sansa had attended the same Renaissance Faire. 

The first time he had seen her, or noticed her, was when he was participating in the jousting tournament. 

He had been doing it for years at that point. Many people would take one look at him and never think he'd never participate in something so *dorky*. But it had really been an outlet for his violent anger. It was this, MMA, or jail (again) for assault. Too many douchebags liked MMA for his liking. Well, too many nerds liked the Faire, but he could take them over pointy-haired dicks in Affliction shirts.

When he had first started practicing with other newbies, all of the jousters had seen that was a big mistake. A lot of them weren't the biggest guys, and well, he was. Big, and as angry as a rabid dog who didn't care about who he bit, just as long as he got the chance. One of the very, very seasoned veterans of the "sport" approached him and said he needed to focus on where and how he hit, instead of how hard. He was there to shatter shields, or lances, not bones. It was all pretend, after all.

Ah, old Barry. Annoying and overly conscientious. But he couldn't bring himself to hate the old man. He took the advice to heart, even while pretending it was a big hassle.

And so he got better and less overly forceful. Finally ready for his first, 'serious' jousting tournament. Staged or not, it was something he looked forward to. He'd still get to smash things into splinters and knock people from horses, so what was the difference, really? And to top it all off, he'd get *paid* for it. Best job ever.

With the help of Barristan and this weird kid named Pod (he assumed that was just a nickname), he came up with his colors, his crest, and even the style of armor he'd be wearing. Yellow and black (yellow for fear, he thought to himself, and black for well... he just liked black) with two stylized dogs as the crest on his tunic. He was known to be a bulldog of a man, so why not? His armor was black plate and mail, and someone even constructed a hound's head helm for him.

He wouldn't admit it, but it was all so cool.

A couple more days, and finally it was time for his first formal joust. 

The behemoth of a man, in full armor, waited in the wings for his turn. Men in a variety of colors jousted before him, and before Barristan, who watched on with the eyes of a man who thought this was all very, very real. The codger really worried Sandor sometimes.

There were a couple of bouts before he was up. Thoros, that weirdo, had just beat Beric. Sandor had always done his best to stay away from the man. It always felt like he was trying to get him to join a cult or something. He never actually *said* that, though. It was just a feeling he got. And he was so *smarmy* about it all. He hoped he wasn't some kind of Manson in the making.

But as the joust was practiced, so it went, and Thoros found himself in the dirt. Sandor dismounted and led his big black horse off the field.

Everything else went as planned, too, up until the final joust: Sandor versus the resident pretty boy, Loras. Loras, in his pretty, flowery armor was supposed to be the winner. A real prince charming, versus a beast. A monster. Or that's how Sandor took it, whether that's how it was supposed to be taken or not.

Everything was set up as it should be, Loras on his end waving while the breeze danced through his long, curly hair. He even turned his horse in slightly to bow stiffly toward a woman (who had been placed there for just this reason) who had given him her favor: a green ribbon. Nobody in the audience knew who she really was, though: his sister.

The girl was quite the actress, though. She blushed and sheepishly smiled at him, bowing her head in return to his bow. 

And then Sandor noticed a girl who sat a row up, gaping at them both while gripping a plastic, 'jeweled' goblet in her hand. He had been hearing a lot of yelling any time any of the better looking men came out, including Beric and Loras, so it was soooo nice to put the face to the screeching.

It *was* a pretty face, but that was beside the point.

Both he and the pretty boy soon got into place on the field. They readied themselves, and their lances and shields, and then kicked into gear, riding fast and hard (enough) at each other.

But then a slightly shrill cry rang out. A cry so startling, it threw both men off their repeatedly rehearsed movements. Before he knew it, Sandor's lance bit right through Loras' and struck him in the chest, sending him to the ground. Hard.

Everyone went deathly silent, even the girl who had let out the scream. Growling in frustration, and even some slight embarrassment, Sandor ripped his helmet off, gray eyes looking around a bit before fixing themselves on the redhead in the stands who had thrown everything off balance. He stared at her openly, and soon enough, she clumsily left the stands and disappeared.

Many of the people in the stands began to boo as Loras pushed himself up, stunned by both the loss he wasn't supposed to have, and the blow that had thrown him off of his horse. Stomping over, Sandor held out his arm, allowing the smaller man to grab him by it so he could haul him to his feet.

After taking off his armor, Sandor found himself stomping through the crowd, looking for the girl in purple. He spotted some other women in similar colors, but not with that striking red hair.

He almost gave up on finding her, but then he almost ran right into her. He reached out with his large hand, prodding her in the shoulder. She stumbled forward, as if she were pushed instead, and he reached out without thinking, grabbing her by the arm to keep her from falling.

The redhead turned and began to say something, but then she saw that familiar scarred face of his. Sandor stood there, glowering down at the girl, who seemed to sober a bit under his gaze. She tugged at her arm and he released it. He didn't want to scare her that bad, but that didn't show well on his frightening face.

"W-what? What do you want?" She asked, glancing around a little with those big blue eyes of hers, obviously searching for her friends. She was obviously very nervous, even if she was also still slightly inebriated. This only caused him to let out a grumbly sigh.  
"Why were you so loud?" He asked simply enough, or at least he thought, but the girl still seemed very confused.

"What do you mean? When?" She blinked at him. "Oh, you-... you mean at the jousting thing? I was cheering. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Yes..." He growled, but then held up a finger, making her cringe back. "But not that loud, and not in the fucking middle of a joust, and especially not while you're clearly drunk." He paused, and then muttered, "...lightweight."

The girl backed away from him, gulping. "I-I need to find my friends, sooo..." And with that, she scurried off into the crowd, leaving Sandor annoyed but also... something else. Something else he couldn't put his finger on. But whatever. He had better things to do than watch some silly girl do more silly things.

* * *

After that fateful meeting, he started seeing her a lot around King's Landing. Apparently she attended college there in that large, busy city. Sometimes he'd see her with her friend. Sometimes with her other friend, who turned out to be her sister. Sometimes with her parents and younger brothers Both parents seemed a bit dour but always gave him polite nods, even after the girl whispered something to them about him.

At first, he'd give her, and anyone with her, the tiniest of nods without much eye contact. But after a surprising number of meetings, he began looking her and her entourage right in the face, but still that stern nod. No waving. He didn't wave. But he thought it was good enough. This led to her mother smiling directly at him (but not her father), her little sister or brothers giving him strange looks and sometimes giggling amongst themselves.

This went on for a whole year. A year of continuous, coincedental meetings.

And then they both showed up at the Faire for the second year in a row. But this time, she was with what seemed to be her entire family. Every single one of them dressed up in what could constitute the basic Faire attire.

Both Sandor and Loras, and even some of the other jousters, were nervous to see her in the stands. But she was completely sober this time. It probably helped that her parents were with her, to keep her on her best behavior.

Another big difference from last year is her sister decided to be the 'mystery knight', and another newcomer named Gendry joined the ranks of the jousters as well. It was all a little weird to him, a teenage girl wanting to joust, but he went on with it. He pretended to be annoyed by her constantly, and while that was sometimes true, he usually found her to be alright. And her sister coming to watch practice at times didn't hurt either, he realized.

He was beginning to really like her and he *hated* it. Her sister ended up hanging out with this Gendry kid between practices, leaving her sister, which he found to be named Sansa, lurking awkwardly amongst men in armor.

Everything went well in the tournament this year. Sansa, wedged between her mother and father, only politely clapped. And Loras even named her the Queen of Beauty. His sister sat not far away, seemingly very agreeable about the whole thing. She was fine simply being in the crowd.

After the tournament, and in his plain clothes, he chased the girl named Sansa down again. But it was for quite the opposite reason. 

And this time she saw him coming. And she seemed *happy* about it. It made him feel all... fuzzy inside, and it was terrifying.

"Hey," He began, his voice breaking before he cleared his throat. "So, I wanted to ask if you wanted to... get a drink." He paused, thinking that one over before continuing, "Coffee. That's the drink I meant. Do you want coffee?"

Sansa blinked at him, adjusting the sleeves of her dark hued, purple gown. It didn't look very authentic, but at least it fit her better than the one she had worn the year before. "I--... Oh. I could do that, yeah. I know of a good one that's not far from my campus. Does that sound alright?"

"Yeah. Next weekend. We can meet next weekend." He didn't really give her a choice in that matter, but she seemed agreeable.

"Next weekend, then. I'll see you then." With a wave and a sheepish smile, she turned to rejoin her family. And he let her be. He felt a little shocked by his own thoughts and actions and wondered what had come over him.

He tried to not think about it all the next week, even while at his regular job, but the more he tried not to, the more thoughts pushed their way inside his mind. He felt nervous the closer it got to that day, even to the point that co-workers could see it in his face. *And* ask him what the matter was. Goddammit. 

They had their date and it went well enough. It was a bit awkward. She was awkward. Even he was awkward in their own way.

They went on a few dates after that before they actually became serious. He even met his family after several months. Sansa seemed to be taking her sweet time introducing him. He was sure he knew why. But they were all polite enough to him, except for her younger sister who was simply a little shit. He liked her.

And, to his surprise, they were still together when the Faire once more came around. He wasn't one to believe in miracles, but he wasn't sure why else she'd still be there, wanting to talk to him. Wanting to be with him. They hadn't been too physical yet, but he wasn't one to push it. He was the bastard with the scarred face, after all, while she was... herself.

Then the Faire came around again. She'd be watching him joust, and this time alone. Even Arya, her little shit of a sister, decided she was bored of it all. The rest of her family stayed away as well, but why he didn't know. She did show up to watch him practice when time allowed and even let him know that she was having a dress made just for the Faire that year.

While he was getting ready, there she sat in the stands, wearing a dress that fit her perfectly in all the right places. It was made of a satin-y, turquoise material that even made her eyes shine more beautifully than they normally did, and she wore a crown of *real* yellow roses on her head. That was her way of silently cheering him on.

He meant to go through the motions that were the jousting tournament and then take her to some fancy restaurant. That was a good, plan, right? Something a good boyfriend would do? 

That made him feel good enough, but when he came out on his horse, without his helmet on yet, he saw some kind of odd expression on Sansa's face. He did his best to ignore it, pulling his helmet on, and readying himself to joust someone he hadn't jousted before: Hugh. And of course, as things were planned (much to Hugh's chagrin), Sandor unhorsed him.

And that's when the cheering began. Sansa practically jumped to her feet, clapping and cheering him on loudly. He could feel his eye twitch beneath his helmet, having flashbacks to the first time he saw, or heard her. Goddammit, what was she doing?

He tried to brush it off as he went to wait for his next bout, but she could still picture that bright, joyful look on her face as she cheered him on. And it *did* things to him. He cleared his throat and just tried to breathe. He already had a lance. Didn't need one in his pants as well.

He had two more jousts, with her cheering and clapping and even jumping up and down getting more loud and rambunctious with each one.

Sandor decided something would have to be done about it.

So, while two of the other men jousted, he beckoned her out of the stands. She seemed confused, but she walked down the wooden steps to join him, just for him to ask her to wait outside of the tent where the men went to get in and out of their armor.

When he came out, in a plain, dark gray t-shirt, jeans, and his normal black boots, Sansa looked very, very confused. Without a word, he took her by the hand and began to lead her off.

"What are you doing? You still have some jousting to do, don't you?" She looked back over her shoulder, but didn't try to pull away. It did take a bit of effort to keep up with the large man as he stomped away from the jousting area.

Still, he said nothing. He simply pulled her along, her long, wide sleeves flapping in the breeze. He only stopped once they were between a cart for a fortune teller that had been closed down for the day, and an empty booth. It was far away from any other people. Or so he hoped.

There wasn't much room between the two wooden constructs, so they ended up pressed against each other, her chest against his. His large hands moving up to cradle her soft face. His thumb stroking her face. He could feel her breath catch in her throat and then escape back out through her mouth as a shaky sigh.

And so he kissed her. He was gentle and light at first, but the feeling of her pressing her plush lips back against his drove him crazy, and his kissing became more hungry. They both squeezed each other, their shared body heat rising and rising as their lips danced against each other, their tongues darting out to meet.

His hands wandered down to grab onto her slender hips, raising her into the air and pressing her into the side of the cart so that she was caught between him and it. Without any coaxing, Sansa hurriedly pulled her skirt up, hiking it around her waist so she could more easily wrap her legs around him.

But his hands didn't roam downward. No, they ran up her body to her chest, teasing her through the light, thin fabric before beginning to unlace the front of her gown with one hand, freeing her small breasts. So she wore underwear, but no bra. Interesting. He began to tease her light pink nipples with her thumb, making him whimper and squirm around against him.

It was then and there that the fog that engulfed his brain cleared and he murmured, "Is this okay? Do you want this?"

He meant to explain what he meant by 'this' but before he could, Sansa nodded enthusiastically and licked her lips. That's all he needed to know. He ducked his head down, running his tongue very slowly over one nipple, making it harden further. Making her legs twitch and squeeze him harder.

He knew what she wanted, but he wasn't ready to give it to her yet. He peppered her chest with kisses between thorough licking and teasing, hearing her gasp, feeling her shiver against him, watching goosebumps form on her pale skin.  
After a while, she finally pleaded in a breathy, quiet voice, "Please. Please..."

A growl formed in his chest after hearing her beg and he reached down to unbutton and unzip his pants, his erection springing free. Her panties were pulled to the side so he could rub his cock against her opening. Feeling how slick it already was, he guided himself inside her slowly, bit by bit, feeling her surround him. 

He felt himself shudder a little once he was far enough in, heavy-lidded gray eyes regarding her and making sure he wasn't causing her any undue pain before he began to roll his hips into her slowly.

He stared at her, watching at her head slowly began to tilt back, her lips parting to let out a moan. One hand shot up to cover it and he leaned in, explaining, "No, no. You were so loud before. I won't let you be loud now," His lips lingering over where hers would be.

His free arm wrapped around her, tugging her down and pulling her back up on him in turn, harder and faster as felt her become more and more wet. He allowed himself to lean further into him as he thrust, the bouncing rhythm causing her flower crown to fall right off and the cart they were pressed against to rock, a grunt escaping him each time he pushed up into her.

He felt himself moving closer and closer to the edge, so he slowed down, giving her slower, more ginger strokes. Surprisingly, she shook her head, goading him to return to his rougher thrusting. And so he obliged, bouncing her up and down on his cock, listening to her muffled moans become cries. Her eyes squeezed shut and she let out a strangled scream as she squeezed more tightly around him, hugging him more tightly than he could ever imagine. 

Her coming made him fall over the edge as well. He couldn't even think of pulling out, especially since her legs were still squeezing him so tightly. Clenching his jaw so he wouldn't be too loud, he exploded inside her as cursed from between his teeth, filling her up.

Sandor fell against him, a bit limp as his hand fell from her mouth, allowing him to catch her breath as he tried to do the same. They sat there, their heavy breathing the only thing filling the silence except for the sound of distant cheering and talking.  
But then, there her small, drained voice was, "...Sandor." It caused him to lean back and look over her face. He couldn't help but press the gentlest of kisses against her lips.

"I know, I know," He began, as if he knew what she'd say. "I love you," He murmured against her lips, kissing her time and time again as they embraced there, undiscovered.


End file.
